Click
by gizzymoon
Summary: Sherlock begins an experiment in figure out relationship with the help of Molly Hopper, in a purely platonic way. But when someone from his past returns and Mycroft begins to think there is more to Sherlock's favorite pathologist than meets the eye, things become messy.
1. Chapter 1

"Molly!" the drunken baritone of Sherlock's voice rang from her stairwell just as Molly Hooper heard a _thud_ against her door.

_Not again, _she mumbled under her breath as she flipped off the telly and glanced at her watch. One in the morning, yet another one in the morning call from Sherlock Holmes.

She got to her feet, tightened her blue chenille bathrobe and made her way to the door before he yelled again and woke her neighbors.

She was just in time as he was just in the process of raising his hand to knock when she opened it and ushered him inside.

A glance told her he'd been out again. His suit was dark blue and rumbled, his deep purple shirt stained with some kind of alcohol, his hair was flying in all different directions and he smelled like a brewery.

"Oh, Molly," he slurred. "I'm so glad you're still up. I was afraid it was too late and I have questions."

"You were out again tonight?" she asked, taking the coat and jacket he was jabbing in her direction and giving them both a toss on the chair beside the couch.

"Yes, I went out again. Of course I went out again. I told you, this is an experiment."

"An experiment in drunkenness?" she jibed testily. It was the third night this week he'd shown up at her door, completely inebriated.

"No," he answered as if she'd said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, a tone Molly was not unfamiliar with coming from him. "I know everything I need to know about being drunk."

"Clearly," she commented drily with a raised eyebrow.

He looked her up and down for a moment before stepping close to her and whispering in her ear, "You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for you to loosen up a little, Molly. You really are rather boring."

"And yet, here you are at my door at one in the morning," she huffed and walked to the couch where she plopped down and put her slipper covered feet up on the coffee table. "Okay, let's have it then. What questions do you have this time?"

"My first question," he began as he stumbled over to the spot beside her and flopped his long body down in a more or less seated position. "is why?"

"Why what?" she asked, shifting so her back was against the arm of the sofa. She rested her knees in front of her and settled in for a nice long session. She could tell by his tone he was gearing up for something.

"Why do men and women go through all they go through just to be together? What is the point of all this?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, are you asking me what the point of love is?" she asked incredulously.

"No, I'm asking what is the point of love. You ended your sentence with a prepo-prepo-preposition." he corrected.

"Oh for God's sake," she mumbled, "Wouldn't it be better if you just got some sleep? Can't we talk about this tomorrow?"

Sherlock squirmed, shifting around on his side of the couch like a two year old gearing up for a tantrum and it nearly made her laugh out loud. "I don't want to wait till tomorrow. I want to talk about it now!" he insisted.

"Okay," she held her hands out to ward off the fit. "We'll talk now. Let's see what's the point of love?" She sat quietly thinking for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain such an abstract concept. "I suppose the biggest point would be procreation."

"No, no, no," he immediately answered, shaking his head violently to the point of almost tumbling off the sofa. "There is no need for love in the act of procreation. It isn't needed and in fact, in most cases, if you ask me, it just makes it all more messy."

"You're saying that being in love makes having children more _messy_ ?"

"Well, yes, how can you not see that?"

Molly sighed in frustration and decided that maybe changing the subject was the best option. "Maybe you can tell me what happened to make you question the point of love? Did you have a date tonight or were you just out observing the people, like you call it?"

Sherlock had begun this experiment not long after Alexis, John and Mary's baby, was born. He had gotten it into his head that at some point in the future Alexis would be coming to him for advice about life and he felt like his experience in a few areas might not be up to the task. Right now he'd tasked himself with learning everything there was to learn about dating and love. So far it had been a very confusing and frustrating lesson for the genius.

"I was just observing tonight," he answered. "I went to the pub right down from my flat. There was a man sitting at the bar, single, insurance salesman, watches a lot of telly, mostly sports, eats too much fried foods, owns a small brown dog, has a sister he rarely talks to and a brother he talks to more than he wants, parents are both dead." He paused to draw in some air as the last sentence was spoken quite quickly and all in one breath. "You get the idea."

"No, I'm not sure that I do, but go on, I'll catch up." She told him.

"I watched him as he ordered drinks for no less than four different women, paid for them, smiled and talked to them like he was actually interested in what they were saying. Then I watched that same man go home alone. Not one of the women stayed for longer than it took her to finish her free drink before she moved on to a more appealing man."

"More appealing? You mean the man wasn't very attractive?" Molly asked, trying to get a feel for the situation.

"Well, he wasn't horribly disfigured or anything. He was just average, wearing an average looking beige suit with average brown hair and eyes."

"So he was boring, like me?" she interjected with an edge to her voice that she was certain he would ignore.

He did, just as she knew he would. "Yes, exactly. The thing is, two of those women who this perfectly nice chap bought a drink for, came to sit in the booth right beside mine and spent half the night trying to get my attention while I ignored them." He sat up a little straighter though it looked difficult as his bones appeared to have melted from the alcohol. "I just don't understand." He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it further still. "Why wouldn't they have just stayed with the man who showed them some interest? They could have spent a perfectly nice evening with a man who wanted to be with them. Instead they both left frustrated and alone."

"I'm still not sure what it is that you're asking?" she answered confused. "I don't know why they didn't like the man at the bar. I haven't met him. Maybe he's boring like you said. Or maybe he's secretly a creep. Who knows?"

"I need to know. What made me more attractive than him to these women?"

Molly got to her feet and started off towards the part of the flat set aside for the kitchen. "Well, honestly, Sherlock." She burst out without thinking as she put a pot on for tea. She could feel the redness rising in her cheeks as Sherlock turned and looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I just mean, if this other guy wasn't as attractive as you are, of course those women would rather go home with you."

"But I never gave them any indication that that was an option. Why wouldn't they have chosen the man who did give them that option instead?"

She came back to the sofa and rested her hip on the arm while waiting for the water to boil. "It's natural selection. Clearly they didn't find the other man as desirable a mate as they found you." She tried again. Sherlock would never get this without her spelling it out, but spelling it out would be admitting that she found him very attractive and she wasn't willing to do that. "Or maybe they met the other man and they just didn't click with him."

"_Click_?" he asked like the word was foreign and he'd never heard it before.

"Yeah, you know, they didn't hit it off, didn't get on."

"So now you're saying the key is to _click_ with someone?"

The pot began to whistle and she made herself busy with making them both a cup of tea. "Yeah, I guess, really that's the point of love. You just try to find someone you click with."

"Someone with whom you click, Molly. Really, I know you have a better grasp of language than this." he tsked.

Slobbering, staggering drunk and here he was lecturing her on her grammar. But then of course he was. He was Sherlock.

"Alright, fine." She huffed. "The point is to find someone with whom you click."

Sherlock took the cup she offered him and brought it to his lips. Then he made a face and sat it on the coffee table, forgotten. "How exactly does one know when they click with someone? What does that mean?"

"It means finding someone you can talk to, someone who likes the same things you like or does the same things you do. Someone who gets you." she answered as she went back to the kitchen and grabbed the sugar container. Then she came to the table, scooped two spoonfuls into Sherlock's cup, then put it back in the kitchen.

Sherlock glanced at the cup for a moment before picking it up, taking a tentative sip and finally a large gulp.

"Oh," she said as she resumed her position on the opposite end of the couch. "A homeless man came into the morgue today. I saved him for you like you asked."

He brightened immediately. "Oh, that's great news! Do you want to help me with him tomorrow?"

"Of course. You know I'm always up for an experiment."

Sherlock was suddenly silent as he sat and stared at her for long enough that she started to squirm uncomfortably.

"You know," he said, finally. "Your hair is rather beautiful in this light."

Her hand went there automatically and busied itself with smoothing any wayward strands. "Thank you," she mumbled into her cup of tea. "That's very nice of you to say."

"I wasn't trying to be nice. I was just stating a fact. Actually, now that I really look at you, you are a very attractive woman, Molly."

Molly nearly spilled her tea in her sudden nervousness and decided it would be best to put it away. When she did, she dropped her feet from the sofa and sat forward, causing her to brush against Sherlock's long leg in the process. She jumped at the sudden contact and ended up with a lap full of tea anyway.

"Shit," she muttered, as she tried to brush the liquid off. Then without giving it much thought, she undid the tie to her robe and shrugged it off before giving it a toss on the floor. A glance down made her suddenly even more uncomfortable as she realized she was now sitting beside Sherlock in an old, ratty t-shirt that barely came to the middle of her thighs and hugged her upper body a little more closely than she liked. The v-shaped neck added some cleavage to the mix and made her feel even more naked.

The ugly, yet comfortable, loose gym shorts didn't even come past her t-shirt making it appear as if she was wearing nothing at all under it and giving Sherlock a bird's eye view of her entirely bare leg.

Sherlock shifted and cleared his throat in an unmistakably nervous way. Then he sat his cup beside her empty one on the table and got to his feet much more steadily than she would have thought him capable of doing.

"Maybe I should be going." He said as he wiped his palms on the front of his trousers. "I didn't realize how late it was and I'm keeping you up."

Molly squeezed past him quickly and jolted into her room where she retrieved a fresh robe.

"It's okay." Molly answered when she returned. "I don't really sleep."

"You don't sleep?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

"No, I sleep, just not often and never for very long."

"Molly, you know that isn't healthy. You really should sleep."

Molly shrugged. "Like I said, I do sleep-"

Sherlock cut her off. "Just not often or for very long." He sat back down. "You are a doctor, Molly. You know you must sleep more than that."

She shrugged again. "I can't make myself sleep. It's not like I don't try."

"You know," he began and she could have sworn he moved a little closer to her when he did. "I'm not completely unfamiliar with the concept of insomnia. I myself have had many nights when I simply could not get my mind to shut up long enough for me to get to sleep. What makes you not be able to sleep?"

"Same thing, I guess. Plus," she started to say something, then stopped and pursed her lips together in total embarrassment over what she was about to admit.

"What?" he pushed. "You can tell me."

She shifted and the movement caused her shirt to ride up even higher on her thigh and she immediately yanked it back down as far as she could. "It's just that I've never really gotten used to being alone here. I've always had someone around. I moved in here right after university where I lived with my roommate. Before that I was at home with my parents and brothers."

"But you've been on your own for a few years now. Surely you've had time to adjust to being alone," he commented.

"Not really. I've had people here with me for the most part. I haven't been here alone too often." She said as tactfully as possible.

"You've had flatmates?" he asked.

"I did for a while when I first moved in. Then there was Tom." She answered.

"Yes, Tom." He replied with a bit more aplomb than was necessary, making it obvious that he had an opinion about Tom he was reluctant to share. "So, Tom lived here with you for a time, did he?"

"Yeah, well, it wasn't official or anything, but you know, when we were together, we were together most nights."

"You know," he chuckled but it sounded forced and didn't reach his eyes. "When you brought him to John's wedding, someone mentioned that he bore a striking resemblance to me."

Molly leaned forward and rubbed her hand along her calf nervously. "Really? I never noticed," she lied. "I never noticed that at all." She added for good measure.

Of course she'd noticed. When she was being truly honest with herself, which wasn't often, she could admit that the only reason she'd started seeing Tom in the first place was because he looked so much like the man beside her. Well, that and the fact that Sherlock was supposedly dead and she didn't think she'd ever see him again. Not that had matter to her much. She'd known all along that he wasn't really dead and never gave up hope for his return. But she'd been in one of her, '_I'm giving up on this guy and moving on with my life_', phases. She'd been through several of those phases with regards to Sherlock Holmes. For Molly Hooper it had been love at first sight when he stepped into her morgue and proceeded to take it over. She'd been so obviously and utterly head over heels in love with him for so long. Every time she felt they might be making a little progress, something always came crashing down on them and put her right back at square one in his eyes. It wasn't until very recently that she'd given up on him for the last time. She'd promised herself that no matter what, she was not about to fall down that rabbit hole again.

When Alexis came around and John found himself with no time to play with Sherlock, her relationship with the detective had changed. She'd found herself getting calls in the middle of the day to meet him some place or other to look for clues, and calls in the middle of the night so he could have a sounding board while he thought things out. She liked to think she contributed a little to his process now. She wanted to feel as if she were a part of the brilliant work he did.

But more importantly than anything, she found herself more able to just be herself around him now. Since letting her childish fantasies about him go, she'd seen him in a new light, a different light. Oh, she still knew he was completely brilliant. But now there was a humanness in him that she'd never noticed before and somehow knowing that had given her the courage to be who she really was around him. It was a refreshing change and a much needed one. It was exhausting, loving him the way she had in the beginning. Now she wasn't quite sure what her feelings for him really were.

He was her friend. Even he would call them that much. And that alone made her feel as if he'd bestowed a great gift upon her. So she'd made up her mind when they started working together so closely, being his friend was enough. It was more than enough. It was an honor.

"Did you ever get a chance to look at the shoe scrapings in the Doyle case?" he asked, out of the blue and clearly changing the subject.

"I did. Come by in the morning and I'll have the results for you."

"Anything standout?"

"Not really, nothing out of the ordinary that I saw, but I'm sure you'll see something I didn't," she answered.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked, turning towards her and completely giving up any notion he had about going home.

"Why do I do what?" she replied, confused.

"If you didn't see anything important in the sample, there probably wasn't anything to see. You know a reasonable amount about these sorts of things. You are a pathologist, after all. That does come with a special skill set, yet you always assume that have the wrong answer, not that the answer just isn't there," he explained.

Molly sat back, falling back into her original position with her back against the sofa's arm but this time she left her feet on the floor. "I don't know. I guess I'm just used to having the wrong answer."

He shook his head immediately. "But you don't. You are a talented pathologist. Do you really think I would work with you if you weren't?"

"I suppose you're right. I was top of my class in medical school."

"And there was the time you called me when one of your cases didn't feel right to you. You had no evidence really but you called me because you thought there was something off when the police wanted to declare the death an accident. If it hadn't been for your keen eyes and good judgment, that woman's murderer would have never been brought to justice."

She couldn't help but smile. "Okay, okay, I'm kinda brilliant."

"You help me, too, you know." He said after joining her in a chuckle.

"No, I don't, not really. I get you coffee and make sure you eat, but other than that-"

"You help me see things I didn't see, things I may have overlooked." He finished before she had a chance.

"Now you're just putting on." She blushed.

"When have you ever known me to pay someone a compliment I didn't feel they deserved?" He said in all seriousness.

She shut up immediately and shifted in her seat. "Well, I'm glad to know I help."

His hand suddenly fell to her bare knee and she almost jerked away when the warmth of his palm touched her skin. "You help, Molly and I appreciate you."

Her eyes fell to his hand and stayed there for a moment while she processed what was happening, then a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Did Mary tell you to tell me that?"

He snatched his hand back and began to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. "She might have mentioned that it would be nice if I told you that I realize how much you do for me. Apparently, I take you for granted sometimes. I don't mean to. It just sort of happens."

"Oh," Molly mumbled, a little flattened now that she knew this whole conversation had been prompted. She knew her friend meant well, but really she wished everyone would just leave them be. She was used to the way Sherlock normally treated her. This new and improved Sherlock was unnerving. Or maybe it was just that she wished she'd been brave enough herself to tell him he took her for granted.

"But the compliments were all mine. I meant every word of them."He added quickly.

"It's okay. I understand that this is hard for you." She said, trying to let him off the hook.

"I don't want you to understand. I don't want you to have to be understanding in order to put up with me." He suddenly burst out. "I don't want you to feel as though you are putting up with me at all."

"Put up with you? You think that's what I do? Put up with you?" she asked, getting to her feet. "I don't put up with you, you dolt. I like being with you."

"Oh, come on now, no one actually likes being with me. I'm rude. I'm callous. I'm self-centered."

"Stop it!" She said a little louder than she meant to. "What you are is brilliant. You are the most brilliant man I've ever known and the fact that you use that brilliance to help people, that makes you even more brilliant."

"Okay, so we're both brilliant," he nodded. "Now tell me more about this whole process of clicking with someone."

Molly sighed and resigned herself to the all night discussion she knew was about to commence.


	2. Chapter 2

"Molly!" the voice of her boss rattled her and shook her out of her revelry. "Are you sleeping?!" he demanded incredulously.

"No, no, not at all. I was thinking," she stammered, trying to cover.

"There's been an accident, a five car pileup. Three dead. I'll need those victims taken care of as soon as possible so we can release them to their families." He told her while studying a stack of papers in his hand. "So stop 'thinking' and get to work."

He left as quickly as he appeared leaving the morgue's door swinging in his exit.

"He didn't look very happy." John Watson said a moment later when he entered the lab. "Everything alright?"

Molly rubbed her hand over her face. "Five car pileup with multiple victims. Looks like I'm in for a long night."

John stepped to her and handed her a large coffee from her favorite shop. "You look terrible. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

Molly laughed out loud at that. "Why is everyone suddenly so concerned with how much sleep I'm getting?"

"Because you look like you haven't had any in ages?" John suggested. "Who else is concerned about it?"

"What?" she asked, after taking a long drink from the coffee.

"You asked why everyone is concerned. Who is everyone?" he clarified, propping himself on the stool beside where she was sitting in front of a microscope.

"Sherlock and I were just having the same conversation last night. I guess that makes him everyone." she answered, though with some reluctance.

"Last night?" John asked with raised eyebrows. "So you were with him last night?"

"He came by, yeah." She shrugged.

John smiled ruefully. "I was wondering what he was doing with himself lately."

Molly immediately shook her head. "No, no. It isn't like that. I mean, he comes by sometimes and calls, but we're just friends."

"Oh, I know." John nodded.

"Oyi! What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, sitting up straighter. "You think that it's so out of the realm of possibilities that it could be more?"

John reached out and rested his hand over hers. "Only because it's Sherlock we're talking about. Not because it's you. But now I understand why you look so tired."

Molly gave him a smile. "He can be quite the handful, can't he?"

"Yes, he can. But the way to deal with him is you have to set some boundaries."

Molly nodded in agreement. "So what brings you here today? How are Mary and Alexis?"

"Fantastic!" he beamed. "Actually, Alexis is the reason I came by. I was hoping I could talk you into babysitting tonight, but I'll check with Mrs. Hudson instead. Apparently, you've already done your fair share of that lately."

"I would really love to help, but I just don't know how long I'll be here tonight." She said, regretfully.

"Oh no, it's fine. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson won't mind."

"So, you and the Misses have big plans tonight?"

"I'm taking Mary out to dinner. We haven't been out since the baby was born. I think it's high time we had a few moments to ourselves." He smiled.

"I'll make a deal with you. If Mrs. Hudson can watch the baby, I'll keep Sherlock occupied so he doesn't bother you as well." She offered.

John scratched his head and raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure you're okay with occupying Sherlock like you've been doing lately?"

"What do you mean? Of course I'm alright with it."

"It's just that, you've been doing so well lately."

Molly scoffed. "You act as if I'm an addict and Sherlock is my drug of choice."

"Well..." John mumbled.

"It's not like that at all." She assured him. "I'm completely over Sherlock Holmes. I can assure you I'm fine with working with him."

"Are you fine with him showing up at your flat and calling at all hours?"

"How did you-" she began.

John held up his hand to cut her off. "Because I know him and if he isn't doing that to me, and he hasn't since the baby came, then he's doing it to someone and I took a guess that it was you. Apparently I was right."

"Well, okay, yes, that's what he's been doing, but he's in the middle of an experiment and he needs my help."

"What kind of experiment?" John asked.

Molly giggled. "He's trying to figure out love so when Alexis gets older and comes to him for advice, he'll be able to give it to her. He's afraid he isn't 'knowledgeable enough about it to instruct her properly'. He's taking his role as the baby's Godfather very seriously. It's kind of sweet, really."

"I had hoped when the day came it would be me she would come to," John muttered, "but that's very nice of him all the same." He stopped a moment and thought about what she said before raising his eyebrows again. "And how exactly are you helping him figure out love?"

"John, I told you, it isn't like that. He just has questions and he comes to me for answers."

John laughed humorlessly. "Okay, so he's what? Dating? And after the date he comes to you and barrages you with questions?"

"Something like that, yeah." She confirmed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Molly. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It's okay. Really it is."

"No, it's not okay. Don't worry I'll talk to him. This has to stop."

Molly got to her feet. "You'll do no such thing. I told you, I don't mind. I'm actually quite enjoying the time we spend together. Even if it does mean I'm not getting much sleep." She put her hands on her hips. "I'm not a child. If I have a problem with Sherlock, I'll bloody well talk to him about it myself."

"This is crazy. He knows how you feel about him, yet here he is completely disregarding those feelings like he always does." John replied just as heatedly.

"First off, he does not know how I feel about him. Second, there is nothing to know because I don't feel that way about him anymore and thirdly, this is really none of your business. It's between me and Sherlock."

John ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it and let out a long, loud breath. "I'm just trying to help. I know you say you don't feel that way anymore, but I also feel like I've gotten to know you a bit over the years and I know aren't the kind of person that can just turn your feelings off like that."

Molly jabbed her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. "I know you're trying to help, but I didn't ask for the help. I didn't just turn the feelings off. It took a lot of time, but I'm better now. Sherlock and I are fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine, actually, except for the fact that I'm about to be swamped with work and I'm very tired."

"Did I hear someone say my name?" Sherlock's baritone boomed as he pushed through the double swinging doors of the morgue.

"Yes, we we're just talking about you." John said, getting to his feet.

"Nothing bad I hope." Sherlock commented. "How are you, John?"

"I'm good. Taking Mary out for a night on the town actually, so I should be off. I still have to stop by to talk to Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, good. She's been asking after you. She'll be delighted you stopped by. Mary and Alexis are well?"

"Fine, fine. Everyone is apparently fine." He nodded, before giving Molly a sideways glance.

"Tell them I said hello and I plan on coming by tomorrow to see the baby and whatnot." Sherlock answered, distractedly.

John gave him a smile. "That would be nice. We haven't seen much of you lately. Maybe we can work on a case together."

"Oh, Molly's been stepping in recently. She's doing a splendid job of it. She has a very sharp eye."

"I'm glad to hear you've had some help, but Alexis is sleeping through the night now, well almost. So, I'm hoping to be back to crime fighting very soon."

Sherlock gave Molly a smile and a wink as if they were sharing a private joke. "Molly and I will be happy to have you back on the team."

Did Sherlock just say that she was part of his team regardless of whether John was around or not? She couldn't help the smile that grew as that thought took root in her brain. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd always seen their arrangement as temporary. She never imagined that she might still be included if Sherlock had John to call on.

"Are you ready to get started on that body, Molly?" Sherlock asked, bringing her attention back to the two men in the room with her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sherlock. I've got three bodies coming in from an accident any minute now. Can we do it tomorrow instead?"

"Of course. I'll just head back home and get some work done. What about that report on the Doyle case?"

Molly went to her desk and riffled through a pile of papers in her inbox.

"I'm off. Please try to get some rest, Molly. And I'll see you tomorrow, Sherlock." John called as he left them alone.

Sherlock stepped over to her. "John thinks you need rest?" he asked with one eyebrow cocked like he was examining her closely. "Actually, I think he's right. You do look rather tired."

"Yes, well, I haven't been getting much sleep lately," she commented, then back peddled quickly. "Not that I'm complaining. I really don't mind you stopping by at all."

She found the paper she was looking for and handed it over to him. He took it from her, folded it neatly in two and placed it in the inside pocket of his blue pinstriped suit jacket.

Molly found herself suddenly standing very close to him. In fact he was close enough that he blocked her view of everything else in the room and left her staring at the bare skin of his upper chest where his pink shirt was unbuttoned. Dark curly hair peaked around the shirt covering the pale skin with a light dusting.

Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed hard before raising her eyes up to find him looking down at her with a smoldering gaze in his bizarrely colored blue/green eyes.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" she asked, taking an awkward step back from him.

"I was going to ask if you minded if I came by later tonight. I thought perhaps we could grab some dinner. But seeing how tired you are, I think it would be better to wait till tomorrow," he explained. "Tonight you should get some sleep."

"Are you asking me out?" she asked, completely confused yet more than a little elated. It was something she'd been dreaming about for years. Hearing him say the words was better than she'd ever imagined it could be.

"Well, I just thought we could continue our discussion from last night and I figured I owed you something for all the help you've been lately."

"That sounds nice. I would love to have dinner with you. We can do it tonight, but I'm not sure when I'll be done here."

"You're sure you're not too tired?" He asked with genuine concern in his voice, something that sounded strange coming from him.

"I'm fairly sure I won't be any less tired tomorrow night. I don't expect to get that much sleep tonight."

Sherlock stepped away from her and began to pace for a moment before stopping in mid step and giving her a cautious, narrowed-eyed look. "What about this? I know you say you don't sleep well in your flat alone. How about I come over later with take away and I'll stay the night on the couch, of course? That way you can catch up on your sleep."

"Why would you do that?" she asked, utterly confused and completely flabbergasted.

"Because you need the sleep." He answered simply. "I'll even agree to watch a movie with you while we eat. Anything you want?"

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything, quietly and without complaint." He vowed.

Molly laughed out loud. "Now that I don't believe."

Several hours later, darkness had fallen over the London streets and with it came a sharp chill in the air. Molly wrapped her loudly patterned, brick red, woolen scarf a little tighter around her neck before snatching at the sides of her ill-fitting blue puffer jacket to her body. It was nearly eight and she was finally leaving St. Bart's and making her way home after a very, very long day. A double homicide had added to her body count by the time she left and she was so tired her eyes burned with lack of sleep.

She stopped on the corner and raised one arm while using the other to dig around in her handbag for her phone.

Finding her phone just as a taxi stopped in front of her, she got in, gave the cabbie her address and dialed Sherlock's number.

"Sherlock Holmes." He answered quickly in a crisp business-like voice.

"It's me. I know it's late. I'm sorry. I'm just leaving now. If you want to cancel, I'll understand." She told him as the cab pulled out into traffic.

"No, it's fine. It isn't too late. Actually I have something pressing I'm dealing with at the moment. So I'll be just a little longer," he said. Molly noticed his voice sounded tedious and she worried for a moment that it was her he was finding so tiresome.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything is fine. I'll be around in a little while. Wait for me?"

"Of course. I'll see you when you there."

His end of the phone went dead and when she checked hers she realized he'd hung up without saying another word.

She was more than a little crestfallen as she shoved the phone back into her bag and set back to look out the window for the rest of the ride.


	3. Chapter 3

When Molly first visited the five story walk up that she now called home, she hadn't thought about days like today. If she had, she might have kept looking until she found something with a lift or perhaps on the street level. Every step she took felt as if someone were attaching another weight to her weary legs.

She stopped in front of her door, fished her keys from her purse and opened it.

Giving the door a kick as she stepped inside, she dropped her purse on the table beside it and went directly to the sofa. She dropped wearily into the middle of it and let her head fall to its back. It had been a long day. Several of them, in fact. And she was immensely glad that her work week was over. She wasn't scheduled to go in for the next two days and she intended to thoroughly enjoy the time off and perhaps even catch up on some sleep she'd been missing out on. That was providing Sherlock would allow it. Maybe she could talk him into giving his experiment a short rest as well.

As she rallied herself and got up, she couldn't help but wonder what this evening was really all about as far as Sherlock was concerned. She knew it couldn't possibly be that he was asking her on a date. There was no way Sherlock would see the evening in that light. There was no way he'd ever see her in that light and that was something she'd come to accept. She didn't like it but she accepted it.

After contemplating whether she had enough time for a bath or whether a shower would be better, she decided to take the chance and began filling the tub with water.

After stripping off her scarf and jacket and tossing them on the bed, she made quick work of her oversized cobalt blue sweater and equally ill-fitting black slacks. She was just reaching for her bra when she heard the knock on the door.

Cursing under her breath, she snatched up a robe, stopped the water in the tub and went to answer it.

Who she found on the other side of the door was not who she was expecting. And for just a moment the site of Sherlock's older brother caused her stomach to do a flop. Something had happened and Sherlock was hurt or worse. It was the only thing she could think of to explain his presence.

"What's happened?" she asked, trying and failing to keep the panic from her voice.

"No, no. He's fine. Unfortunately something came up and he asked that I come here and deliver the message to you personally." Mycroft answered with a forced smile.

"Oh," she said crestfallen. "Is everything alright? It isn't anything bad, is it?"

"No, nothing like that. He's just gotten tied up in a matter and couldn't get away," he said with something of a snicker.

Molly gave him a good once over trying to figure out the joke but having no luck. "Well, was there something else?" she asked when he didn't make a move to leave.

It seemed as if he was considering something for a moment before he finally gave her a nod. "Actually there is. Something I'm rather curious about. Do you mind if I come in?"

Molly held the door open to allow him entrance. "Not at all," she muttered, very aware of her lack of attire and feeling less than chatty with the news that Sherlock was standing her up. "Make yourself at home." She told him as she went towards her bedroom. "I'll just be a second."

She retrieved her clothes from the floor where she'd left them and put them back on regretfully before returning to him.

He was seated in the chair that sat adjacent to the sofa, one leg resting on the opposite knee, back stiff as a board and a distasteful look on his face as Toby, her cat stood in his lap and eyed him carefully.

"Toby!" she shouted as she moved to retrieve her naughty pet.

"Oh, no it's fine. I rather enjoy cats, actually." Mycroft commented before raising his hand and running it down the length of Toby's back. The cat arched into his palm and gave out a soft meow. "I understand them better than I do most people."

Molly wasn't sure what to say to that, but she left the cat where it was and moved to take a seat on the sofa. "You said there was something you were curious about?"

"Yes, I wonder, why would Sherlock ask me to come all the way over here in person instead of simply phoning you to tell you he couldn't make it?" Toby had now made himself comfortable, curling himself into a ball on the strange, off putting man's lap while Mycroft continued to stroke his back. He suddenly reminded Molly very much of the villain in the Austin Powers movies and she had to fight off the urge to laugh.

"I really couldn't say. It would have been fine with me if he had phoned instead. I understand if he had to work and our plans weren't special."

Mycroft waved his hand in her direction. "Oh, he isn't working. An old friend just came into town and he's with her now."

"Her?" Molly asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Mycroft nodded. "Irene Adler, perhaps you remember her. It was Christmas a few years back, we came to your morgue to identify her body." He looked almost smug before adding. "You asked why he was able to identify her with 'not her face'?"

Molly felt her stomach flop again. "Yeah, I remember that. I thought she was dead, seeing as how we were at the morgue identifying her body and all." Molly answered sullenly.

"Turns out rumors of her death have been greatly exaggerated, much like someone else we know."

"Jeez, does anyone just stay dead around here?" Molly mumbled under her breath.

"What was that?" Mycroft asked.

"Nothing, okay so Sherlock is with this Irene Adler woman. Is there anything else?" She was trying not to be testy, but the tiredness was getting the better of her and maybe perhaps her jealousy as well.

"Well, yes, see that is why I'm so very curious, you see."

Molly shook her head. "No, I don't see. I guess you'll have to spell it out for me. It's been a long week."

"Irene Adler is the only woman in the world I've ever seen Sherlock show ever the remotest form of interest in, yet here I am in person at his bequest to cancel his plans with you."

Molly shrugged. "Like I said, a phone call would have been fine with me, so you'll have to ask him."

"Oh, I intend to, don't worry. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me exactly what your plans were for the evening?"

"We were going to get some take away and watch a movie," Molly said though she didn't feel like it was any of his business really.

"Just a cozy night in, doesn't really sound like my brother. Is this something you do often?"

Molly sat up a little straighter. "No, this would have been the first time, usually we work together, although since John had the baby I've been helping him with a few cases here and there. I'm sorry, why are you asking me all these questions?"

"I like to keep track of how my brother spends his time."

"Why's that? If you're worried about the drugs, I know for a fact he hasn't used in a long while. He isn't even sneaking the occasional cigarette like he used to. So I really don't see how any of this is your concern." She had no idea where the bravado was coming from, it wasn't like her. But she felt like, in some way, she needed to defend Sherlock, as if he were being attacked.

"Everything concerning my brother is my concern." Mycroft answered simply.

"That's a bit strange, isn't it? I mean, he is a grown man and all."

"Ah, yes, so it would seem. But he's a grown man with a perchance for finding himself in difficult situations. Surely you can understand that."

There was no way she could argue with that statement so she decided not to even try. "Well, I can assure you, he's doing just fine. He's been fine for a while now."

"Why does he routinely show up at your door at all hours of the night?" Mycroft asked, bluntly.

Molly sat back again, not quite sure how to answer that. "Well, we're friends. He comes here when he needs to talk."

"He comes here to talk, like your his therapist?"

"No, like I'm his friend. We're friends. John isn't around as much anymore because of the baby, so I'm kinda stepping in, I guess."

"At one in the morning?" Mycroft asked, insinuation all over his tone and one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Molly sat up quickly and got to her feet. "Yes, he comes here to talk. I really don't think I like what you're implying."

Mycroft lifted Toby from his lap and got to his feet as well. "Well then let me put it bluntly, are you involved in relations with my brother?"

"No, I'm not, but if I were I don't think it's any of your business." Molly answered with her hands on her hips and chin jutting out defiantly. "And I really don't think he'd appreciate knowing you were spying on him."

"Oh, he knows very well that I spy on him. It wouldn't come as any news, I assure you." He told her. He looked as if he were about to leave, but then he stopped and gave her a slow appraising look as if he were just noticing her for the first time. She knew that look, she'd been on the receiving end of that look from Sherlock in the past.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, Good Lord, you both do it! Stop!"

"Stop what?" he asked, amused.

"You're reading me like he does to people."

Mycroft smiled slowly. "I don't have any idea what you mean," he lied.

"Okay, I appreciate you making the trip to deliver the message. I've got it. And now I'd really like to get something to eat and maybe a bath. It's been a really long week."

"Would you?" he asked, both eyebrow shooting up his forehead.

"Would I what?" she asked, confused.

"Like to get something to eat? Not tonight, of course. I can see that you're tired and it is rather late, but perhaps tomorrow or maybe the day after?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Would you say yes if I were?" he countered.

"I'm not sure how Sherlock would feel about that."

"I'm not asking him out, I'm asking you."

Molly eyed him curiously. "Why?"

He smiled again. "You're an attractive woman, I'm a single man. I'm guessing we will both be hungry at some point. If Sherlock is your only concern then consider the fact that he just stood you up for another woman. So why do you care whether he likes it or not?"

He had a point. Molly couldn't deny how sharp the sting of Sherlock's rejection was this time. After months of telling herself she would not care again, one little look in her direction was still all it took to hook her all over again. It was infuriating. Maybe a little jab back would do him some good this time and she couldn't think of a better way to get his attention.

She knew how he felt about his brother, how strained their relationship was. If you asked Sherlock he would tell you Mycroft was his arch nemesis. Who better to use to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine? Maybe this was what she needed to do to get him to finally, after all this time, see her, actually see her, what they could be together.

"Alright. I'll go." She nodded. "Tomorrow is good?"

"Around seven?" Mycroft answered with a wide grin, one that actually reached his eyes this time.

"Seven is perfect. What should I wear?"

"Oh, something nice. We'll go some place special."

"Okay, seven then, tomorrow."

"Splendid." Mycroft beamed, "Until tomorrow."

Molly closed the door behind him while trying to push away the little niggle of guilt she felt at using him in order to get to Sherlock.

She was fairly certain it wouldn't work anyway. History showed that no matter what she did to get his attention, nothing had ever worked. She didn't really feel like this time would be any different.

And really, Mycroft wasn't as bad as she'd heard. Sherlock did have a flair for the dramatic when it came to him.

She was also fairly certain that she had absolutely nothing to wear tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

"I know this is going to sound strange," Molly started off hesitantly. But she didn't really know any other women that could help her. "I need to go shopping and I was wondering if maybe the two of you would come with me, help me pick something out." She looked down at the blue paisley, ruffled shirt and blue jeans she was stepping on the hems of and shrugged. "It's not really my area."

"And what occasion would we be shopping for? Does someone have a date?" Mary smiled devilishly around her cup of tea.

Molly paused for a moment. It was a moment long enough for Miss Hudson to start make some kind of whooping noise while she jumped to her feet and clapped her hands together. "It's Sherlock, isn't it? You have a date with Sherlock. Oh, I couldn't be happier for you, Dear. I was so hoping he'd finally stop long enough to notice you."

Molly held up her hands. "It isn't with Sherlock. I'd actually rather not say who it's with, but it is a date and I need something special to wear."

Mary replaced her mug on its saucer and got to her feet with narrowed, suspicious eyes. "You'd rather not say? Is he famous or do we know him? It must be one or the other."

"Oh, Dear! It isn't Prince Henry, is it?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

"It isn't Prince Henry," Molly said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Then someone we know then." Mary deduced. "And it must be someone all three of us knows. Not John, he knows I'd kill him where he stood. Not Sherlock you've already said. Must be Greg Lestrade. Greg just got a divorce fairly recently. You work together frequently. He's a descent enough looking guy."

"It isn't and stop it. I'd just rather not say who it is right now. We're keeping it quiet for the moment." Molly answered.

Mary just narrowed her eyes further. "It isn't my husband is it?!" she demanded.

Molly laughed out loud. "You think I'm the kind of person that would come to you for help picking out the dress I was going to date your husband wearing?"

Mary sat back down. "I suppose not." She was sullen for a moment, but Molly could see the wheels hadn't stopped turning in her mind. Then suddenly she got to her feet again, knocking her chair backwards so hard it made a thud and nearly woke Alexis who was sleeping in a bassinet nearby. "It's Mycroft!"

Molly quickly suppressed her smile before looking down at her feet. She'd known this would work. She knew Mary wouldn't be able to let it go and Molly could almost guarantee that by the end of the day John would know and it wouldn't take long at all for Sherlock to find out from there. Even if John tried to hide it, Sherlock would sense it and be relentless until John caved in and told him everything. Molly liked to think of it like their little circle's pipeline of communication. First tell Mary, and or, Mrs. Hudson. The rest would hear it from there.

"Oh My Goodness! Sherlock's brother? Oh, Molly, isn't he...well... a bit-" Mrs. Hudson began.

But Mary quickly cut her off "-old for you?" she finished for her.

"He's a bit older, yeah, but I really don't mind that."

"We're happy for you," Mary said nodding to Mrs. Hudson so she'd agree.

"Oh, of course we are," Mrs. Hudson jumped on board. "And we'd be happy to go shopping with you."

After dropping Alexis off with John who also happened to have a free afternoon from the clinic where they worked, they were off.

They went to three stores before Molly found exactly the dress she wanted. It was a blue floral halter dress with a low dipping sweetheart neckline, a belted waist and a full skirt that came right to her knee. Fully bloomed roses in yellow and red sat against a sky blue background. It was perfect. Molly had never owned anything so beautiful.

It took another hour to find the perfect red Mary Jane's with a two inch heel. The next hour was all about the jewelry. Molly hadn't been prepared. She was eternally grateful that Mary and Mrs. Hudson were with her. She would have messed this whole business up so spectacularly. And she didn't want to do that. She was actually looking forward to her evening with the older Holmes brother.

They were just stopping for a bit of lunch before Molly went to get her hair and nails done via Mrs. Hudson's insistence and Mary's credit card. Molly promised to pay her back and Mary waved her off.

So there she was, several long hours later standing in the mirror and adding a white, lace shawl to her finished look when someone knocked on her door.

She opened the door wide and allowed Mycroft to come inside. Molly noted that he was dressed rather sharply as well, dark blue, pinstriped, double breasted suit buttoned over a crisp white shirt and understated red tie. A red handkerchief added a splash of color to the pocket. A diamond encrusted Cartier watch hung on his wrist almost lazily as if it was accustomed to the spot and she could nearly see her reflection in the shine of his black leather shoes.

She grabbed her yellow clutch from the table beside the door and gave him a nod. "I hope I look okay."

Mycroft turned to her and gave her a scrutinizing eye. "You look lovely. Perfect, in fact. I really like your hair that way."

The hair had been all Mrs. Hudson's doing, pulled back from her face and twisted in the back in a messy braid. Several tendrils framed her face artfully.

"I tried to get reservations at Hibiscus, but apparently even my power is limited on such short notice," he began. "So I thought perhaps we'd just go to a little place I know not far from here. It's a bit more low key, but I think you'll like it."

"Alright," Molly agreed. Honestly she wasn't that concerned about where they went and she felt better knowing that Mycroft wasn't paying an exorbitant prize for their meal.

She was more than a little surprised at the location when they arrived. It was a small, almost obscured, quiet, Italian restaurant. The floors were covered in large black and white squares, the walls in a buttery golden stucco. Red fringed curtains draped the windows, red and white checkered table clothes covered the tables and fresco straight from the shores of Sicily decorated the walls.

It was remote, rustic yet somehow elevated to something akin to rustic chic. The Italian music in the background, the jar candles on the tables, the smell of garlic filling the air, none of it was what she'd expected.

Honestly she'd been expecting something far more pretentious from Mycroft. He'd always seemed rather fussy to her. Perhaps she'd misread him.

After their orders were in and she no longer had a menu to hide behind, she took a long drink from her wine glass before giving him a smile. "Okay so why am I here?" she asked finally.

"Pardon?" he asked as he took up his own glass.

"Why am I here? Why did you ask me out? What is all this about? I know there has to be an ulterior motive. What is it?" she said, the words coming out rather rushed as her nerves got the better of her. She'd decided to get this bit of conversation out of the way. She knew without a doubt that there was a reason she was dining with Mycroft. She figured it was his way of getting her to tell him more about his brother.

Mycroft set his glass down and steepled his hands together in front of his lips for a moment. It was a habit of Sherlock's that Molly was quite fond of, every time she found him sitting that way it made her smile. She wondered if Sherlock had picked up the habit from Mycroft or had they both adopted if from someone else, their father, perhaps?

"I know you have no reason to trust me. You barely know me after all. But from what I can see, we share a great deal of things in common, only one of which is Sherlock. I was hoping to get to know you better. That is my only motivation for asking you here tonight." He said, quietly, slowly, almost making it necessary to move in closer to hear him.

"We have things in common?" she asked incredulously.

"When Sherlock first begin making regular passes through your orbit I, of course, had you checked out. I didn't really see anything out of the ordinary there so I discarded you as unimportant." He held up his hand, "No offense."

Molly chuckled. "Oh none taken, every girl loves to hear how ordinary she is."

"Well, clearly my assessment of you was completely wrong."

Molly shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I don't know about that. I'm pretty ordinary."

"That isn't possible. You are important to him." She started to protest but he stopped her before she could begin. "He proved that when he asked me to deliver his message last night to you in person."

"I already told you, I don't know why he did that."

"Precisely my point. I'm not even sure he knows why he did it. I think I might though."

Molly took another sip of wine. "Enlighten me."

"Only two women in Sherlock's life. That's all there has ever been aside from our mother, Mrs. Hudson, and Mary, of course. Two." He repeated to make a point. "He's thirty four years old and aside from a rather embarrassing attempt at dating in secondary school and a couple of even more embarrassing attempts at university, you are the only women he's ever shown an interest in that was beyond professional."

Molly shifted again. "Like I said, we're just friends."

"Oh, that may be how he sees things, but I know it isn't how you want them. I saw your face that night in the morgue. There was more than jealousy there, there was real concern for him. You care about him a great deal. And those feelings are far more than friendly."

Molly looked away his intense stare. "That's not how it is now. I don't feel like that anymore."

"And when did this change of heart occur? When you were helping us fake his death?"

"No," she mumbled, not liking the way the conversation was going. "After that. After he left, I decided to let him go. And I did it."

He raised his eyebrows at her, clearing unconvinced. "Did you now?" He picked up his wine glass took a sip and sat it back in exactly the same place. "Did you happen to notice that when he returned, you were one of the first people he came to? Actually, aside from John you were the first person he came to?"

Molly fiddled nervously with the napkin in her lap. "Yes, well I did help him fake his death after all. I'm sure that's why he came to me so quickly. Or maybe he was just close to St. Bart's at the time."

Mycroft gave her a knowing smile. "Yes, I'm sure that's it."

She took up her glass and gulp down a rather large sip before setting it aside and clearing her throat. "So is this the reason you asked me out then, to talk about Sherlock all night?"

He was quiet for a moment as he simply stared at her. "No, not at all. I asked you out because I'm intrigued. Irene Adler, that I understand. She's a beautiful, powerful, domineering woman. Most men would be fascinated by her."

"Yes," Molly muttered. "I'm sure she's fabulous."

"You, however, are an enigma."

"Thank you, I suppose." She answered uncertain whether it was actually a compliment or not.

"You're welcome." He smiled toothily. "So tell me Dr. Hopper, what is it that he finds so interesting about you?"

She fidgeted again. "I really couldn't tell you. We're friends. I help him out on cases occasionally. And we work on his experiments together sometimes."

Mycroft leaned in closer to her. "Now that is fascinating. He rarely deems anyone worthy of helping him on cases and it's even more rare for him to share his experiments with others. Do you consider yourself to be exceptionally intelligent."

Their dinner arrived and she waited until the waiter left them before she answered. "Not really. I guess I'm pretty average intelligent."

"And yet you graduated at the top of your class at university and you are the youngest female pathologist St. Bart's has ever employed. In fact, you were plucked straight out of your graduating class by the hospital and offered a job straight away."

"Yes, I did well at university. I did have much of a social life keeping me from my studies I guess. Kept my nose to the grindstone, so they say. You sure do know an awful lot about me. Did Sherlock tell you all of that?"

"Heavens no." He laughed. "Sherlock rarely talks to me about his life, particularly not about the people in it. But I have other sources. When I want to know something, I find a way."

"So you googled me?" She asked rather cheekily.

Mycroft sat back and gave her that assessing look again. "You really are quite charming and quite lovely."

"Again, thank you, I think. Although the compliments would be nicer if you didn't sound so surprised every time you offered one."

"I apologize. Like I mentioned before, you are something of an enigma. So easily overlooked, yet so captivating if one simply gives you a moment of their time."

She decided not to say anything to that, leaving it instead of telling how much she didn't like knowing he thought she was easily overlooked. Actually it was something she was more or less used to. Most people didn't give her a second glance. She could understand why he would say. She just didn't have to like it.

Being a quiet, mousy kind of girl hadn't taken her very far socially. She'd always been awkward and felt like an outsider looking in on a party she really wanted to attend but wasn't invited to. She'd always dreamed of being the popular girl, the girl with all the suitors buzzing around her, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with. She had never known how to be that girl though, so much of her life had been spent alone or with her family.

"Why pathology?" Mycroft asked after a moment or two spent with both of them enjoying their dinners.

She thought about that for a moment, deciding how much she wanted to divulge to this strange man. She knew exactly why she went into the field of pathology. She just had never shared the information with anyone else and she wasn't sure she wanted to share it with him.

"I don't do well with the living. I prefer the quiet of having patients that I don't have to carrying on a conversation with." It was her go to answer when people asked about her chosen field. It satisfied most people, seemed logical and she'd practiced it enough to make it sound sincere even.

Mycroft, however, was not most people. His eyes narrowed as he mulled her answer over in his head several times. "No, I don't believe that at all. You seem perfectly comfortable carrying on a conversation with me now. In fact, if I had to venture a guess, I'd say you were a people person. You're friendly, quick witted, and intelligent, charming and attentive. I think you would have made an excellent physician."

"I am a physician." She bristled.

"A physician for the dead. I mean you would have made an excellent physician for the living. So there must be another reason to chose such a macabre specialty."

"Well, someone has to do it." she said, with a wave of her hand. "You know, speak for the dead, it's not like they can do it themselves, is it?"

"Indeed," he smiled.

"And you," she said, trying to turn the conversation in another direction. "You work with the government?"

"Regretfully, its a profession I'm not at liberty to speak much about."

"Oh, I understand. It must be exciting though, all that power."

He chuckled quietly. "I do enjoy being a powerful man." He confirmed.

"Seems your brother doesn't share that enjoyment. It appears he would rather work in the shadows."

Mycroft hesitated before answering. "It would appear that way, yes. But then I've never seen him shy away from a photo opt, have you?"

"So you think he likes all the attention more than he lets on?"

"You know him better than most people, don't you agree with that assessment?"

She thought about that for a moment. "I suppose I do. But then he is brilliant. Why shouldn't he get some acclaim for that?"

His smile was tight and forced this time. "Why shouldn't he, indeed?"

Molly sat her fork aside and looked at him thoughtfully. "You're jealous!" she stated as if it were a matter of fact, and judging by the tightness around his eyes and the crease in his forehead she knew it was.

He sputtered around the wineglass he was taking a drink from. "I am not jealous. I think his talents are being wasted is all."

"So all the attention he gets doesn't bother you?" she pressed.

"Other than the fact that it puts a rather large target on his back, no it doesn't bother me in the slightest."

It was a lie, a pretty bad one at that. She could understand where it came from though. Her own brother was a sports guy. He had always been popular and crowded with friends and attention. She knew what it was like to be the unnoticed one.

The waiter had just appeared to clear away their plates and offer them dessert when she spotted a head of hair in the albeit small crowd of patrons that looked familiar. She sat up a little straighter to get a better view to confirm her suspicions.

Sure enough, as the mop of black curls emerged from the crowd she turned back to Mycroft with narrowed, accusing eyes.

"You knew he would be here. That's why you chose this place!" she said angrily.

Mycroft craned his neck around and gave her his best innocent face. "I have no idea what your talking about."

"Sherlock is here with her." Molly spat angrily.

"You mean the woman, that's what he calls her. Did you know that?" Mycroft smiled slyly.

"I don't know what game your playing, but I'm leaving." Molly fumed, gathering her things. "I should have known better than to trust you."

She got to her feet, ready to run for the exit, and turned straight into the solid wall of Sherlock's chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Time seemed to stop in an instant and all the people around Molly disappeared or rather faded into the background. It was a surreal moment and she honestly wasn't sure what to do next. She didn't know whether to run, or stay, say something or remain silent.

All she did know was that she was standing in the middle of the restaurant's small aisle with her face buried in Sherlock's purple shirt and an apology ready on her lips. She had no idea why she felt as if she should apologize, but she did and she was ready to when his hands came up to grip her elbows in an effort to help steady her.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft said, still sitting at his side of the table. "What a surprise to see you here!"

Sherlock looked down at Molly, who hadn't yet figured out what she was going to do. She just managed to raise her head in time to catch the look in Sherlock's eyes before he returned them to Mycroft. Thankfully, the look he gave her wasn't an angry one, rather it seemed more like concern to her.

"Really?" he said to his older brother. "And why is it that you're surprised? You knew that I'd be here. It would have been a simple thing to deduce and I'm guessing that's why you're here and with Molly, no less. What exactly is the game your playing, Mycroft?"

"There is no game, Sherlock. We're here on a date. Believe it or not, you had very little to do with our choice of plans for the night." Mycroft answered, completely unfazed by the murderous look on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock let his hands fall from Molly's elbows when she took a step back from him and cleared her throat. "I, for one, had no idea you'd be here, Sherlock. And I'm sorry if we have in any way interrupted your plans for tonight. That was not my intention." She said as she gathered her purse and made a move to step around the tall, imposing figure that Sherlock presented. "I was just leaving, in fact."

Sherlock was looking at her questioningly, so she stopped to give him a moment to have his say. "You're here with him on a date?" he asked her quietly as if he wanted the conversation to be just between them. "On purpose?"

Molly shrugged. "I didn't know he had an ulterior motive for asking me out. I thought..." she trailed the sentence off, unable to bring herself to finish it in the crowded room with Mycroft and Irene Adler looking on.

"You thought he was genuinely interested in you," Sherlock finished for her.

She was looking at her feet as he spoke, horrified by the thought of the look of mocking or humor she was certain he was giving her. But when she finally did look up all she saw was the same look of concern he had given her before.

"I'm truly sorry, Molly. I should have warned you about him before now. Mycroft never does anything without a motive and those motives are always selfish." He glanced to his side at the woman standing there and Molly got her first real look at the very much alive Irene Adler.

She wished she hadn't. Long dark hair, perfectly coiffed in a stylish updo, large, dark eyes, perfectly lined and colored to give them center stage on her beautiful face, cheekbones that gave Sherlock's a run for their money, lovely, full lips in an exquisite shade of red that Molly would never have been able to pull off, unblemished skin, more than ample breasts, a tiny waist, shapely hips, and long, statuesque legs all encased in a form-fitting, black velvet dress with a plunging sweetheart neckline and a hem that came just above her knees, made up the figure of Irene Adler.

It made perfect sense to Molly that Sherlock simply referred to her as The Woman. She was utterly flawless and seeing the two of them standing side by side as they were, Molly could see that they were perfectly suited for each other.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure. I'm Irene Adler. And you must be Dr. Molly Hooper. John and Sherlock have spoken about you before." Irene said introducing herself and holding out her impeccably manicured red nails at Molly.

Molly shook her hand quickly, grateful that she'd let Mary and Mrs. Hudson talk her into her own manicure earlier that day. Although despite the pretty polish her nails were still short and uneven due partly to the necessity of her job and partly because she tended to gnaw at them when she was nervous or bored. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Adler. But like I was saying, I'm just leaving. So enjoy your evening." She looked to Sherlock. "I really am sorry about this. I should have known better."

And with that, she stepped around the beautiful couple and practically ran for the door.

She barely made it to the sidewalk outside before she heard Sherlock calling her name behind her.

Taking a deep breath to push back the tears that were already threatening to fall, she turned and waited for him to catch up.

"Are you alright?" he asked as soon as he was close enough.

"Of course I'm alright." she lied. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"I'm sorry my brother used you like this. I know how vulnerable you can be in these situations." Sherlock said, in a well meaning tone.

Molly, however, felt herself bristle. "I am not vulnerable!" She snapped. "I'm fine. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. Stop looking at me like that!"

Sherlock's face went suddenly blank as he dropped any expression whatsoever. "I didn't mean-" He stopped suddenly as if he were confused about how to continue. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was looking at you at all differently than I usually look at you. How was I looking at you?"

Molly felt a smile bubbling up at the corners of her lips. "Like you're about to tell me my Great Aunt Edna just died." she explained.

Sherlock still looked confused. "Didn't she die a year ago?"

"Yes, and you're looking at me exactly like my mother looked at me when she told me. I'm not some delicate flower that's going to wilt simply because I found out I was being used. I'm a lot stronger than you give me credit for, Sherlock. I wish I could make you see that."

Sherlock took a step towards her and raised a hand to her cheek. "Of course you are. I didn't mean to imply that you aren't. But Mycroft is callous and cruel and cold, all the things that you are not. I would hate to think that you were collateral damage in his game to hurt me."

"I'm not hurt, Sherlock. I just want to go home and forget this ever happened." She told him.

He dropped his hand from her face and gave her an understanding smile. "At least let me get you a taxi."

"You're on a date, go back to her. I'll be okay," she said.

"Irene can most certainly take care of herself." he informed her as he stepped up to the curb and held out his hand to hail a cab.

_Of course she can, _Molly thought bitterly as she watched a car pull up.

Sherlock opened the door for her and bustled her inside before handing the driver a handful of bills. "Take her wherever she wishes to go." He told him before turning back to her. "I really am sorry, Molly. I'll make sure that something like this never happens again."

He shut the door and turned back towards the restaurant with a flourish of his belstaff and disappeared into the crowd.

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked her.

Molly thought about just going home, curling up under the blankets with Toby and wishing this day had never happened, but she changed her mind at the last second and glanced down at her watch. It was still early enough.

She gave the driver John and Mary's address.

She barely had a chance to knock before Mary was ushering her inside and taking her wrap. "What's wrong?" Mary asked, just as John stepped into the living room holding Alexis.

His expression turned sour instantly upon seeing her. "What did Mycroft do?" he asked.

Molly gave Mary an impatient look. "I thought I said I didn't want anyone to know who I was going out with tonight."

"He asked and well," she shrugged helplessly. "I couldn't lie to my husband. You wouldn't have wanted that, right?"

Molly sighed. She wasn't upset that Mary had told John, in fact, she'd been counting on it. And yet now that everything was said and done, she wished she had never come up with the damn plan. "He took me to a restaurant he knew Sherlock would be bringing 'The Woman' to tonight." She told them both. Then she shook her head and forced a smile. "Doesn't matter. I'm through with both Holmes men for good."

John came to sit beside her and gave her an sympathetic smile. "What did Sherlock do?"

Molly shook her head. "Nothing." She answered immediately. "In fact, he was uncharacteristically kind about the whole thing. I just see now that you were right. No matter how much I protest differently, I am still in love with him and I also see now that I'm completely out of my league and I will never have a chance with him, so I'm done."

It was John's turn to sigh now. "You met Irene Adler." he studiously surmised.

The tears were burning her eyes, practically begging her to let them fall. "Yes, I had the pleasure."

John handed Alexis off to Mary before pulling Molly into his chest. His arms were barely all the way around her before she couldn't hold back any longer. The tears began to flow of their own free will.

Mary placed the baby in her playpen and came to sit on Molly's other side. "I don't understand. Are you upset because Mycroft used you or because you met this Adler woman?"

Molly sniffled and pulled her head out of John's shoulder, unwilling to let herself completely breakdown in her friends' living room. There would be plenty of time for that later when she was home alone with only Toby to see how truly devastated she felt.

"You haven't met her?" Molly asked Mary.

"No, I guess I haven't had the pleasure. Why?"

Molly took a deep breath. "She's..." she paused as she searched for the perfect word before realizing that that was it. "Perfect."

"You stop that right now, Molly Hooper!" John scolded her immediately. "That woman is far from perfect. And I'll not let you sit here and belittle yourself because of some over-developed, painted up, glorified prostitute that spanks people for a living."

The look of confusion on Mary's face was priceless. "Now I'm really confused."

John jumped in before Molly had a chance to say anything. "I'll grant you that she is rather beautiful, and curvy and all of that."

"No," Mary said, a touch sarcastically at her husband. "I got the over developed, painted up part. It was the glorified prostitute that spanks people I was confused about."

"She's a dominatrix." John explained.

"The woman that Sherlock Holmes, the most repressed, sexually pent-up man I've ever met, refers to simply as 'The Woman' is a dominatrix?" She asked, completely stupefied.

"It would seem so." Molly confirmed. "Which is why I'm giving up and moving on, for good this time."

Mary looked as if she were about to burst out laughing for a moment and Molly couldn't blame her. She could see the humor in the situation, or she might have been able to if she weren't right in the middle of it.

"And Sherlock is on a date with this woman right now?" she asked, seeing the levity of the situation.

"Yes, They are at this moment enjoying a nice dinner at Luigi's." Molly nodded.

"They aren't on a date." John interjected.

Molly did laugh at that. "Oh, I can tell you they most certainly are."

John shook his head. "No, Irene is only back in town because she has information on a case that Sherlock has been working on for some time. She's leaving again soon and I can promise you that she will never be back again. It was a great risk for her to come here this time. She's supposed to be in hiding."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Molly asked.

"Well, I thought that it might, yes."

She watched as Mary gave him a look like he was an idiot. "Do you know the only thing worse than having someone you love date someone else?"

"There's something worse than that?" John asked in surprise.

"Yes, it's having someone you love be in love with the ghost of someone else."

"I don't understand. There is no ghost. She's not dying. She's just leaving."

Mary sighed impatiently. "And she's never coming back again, never going to have any contact with him again?"

"That's the idea, yeah."

"Sounds exactly like what happens when someone dies to me."

"But she'll be gone all the same." John argued.

Mary chuckled sardonically. "From his life maybe, but not from his mind."

John sat back against the sofa with a thud as he suddenly understood what his wife was saying. "But given time, he'll forget about her."

"Really?" Molly asked, suddenly injecting herself into the conversation. "He calls her 'The Woman' as if she's the only one that exists. You really think he'll just forget about her when she leaves."

John's mouth fell opened like he was about to argue, but he closed it again before any words could come out. "Sodding, bloody hell." He mumbled under his breath.

"Exactly," Mary agreed. "And because she's not actually dying, there will always be a part of him holding out hope that one day she'll come back."

"So what do we do?" John asked.

Molly took a deep breath. "Like I said, I forget about Sherlock Holmes and move on. For good this time."

John sat staring at the ceiling for a few moments in silence before he finally sat up and turned to the two women beside him. "So that's it? Molly is just going to move on and forget about Sherlock, a feat she has been trying and failing at for at least as long as I've known her, and what? Sherlock gets to pine away for a woman he will never have for the rest of his life?"

"According to him he's married to his work, remember?" Mary reminded him. "And he hasn't exactly been pining since the last time she left and what was that, five years ago or so?"

"More like three, but I have no idea what he was doing for two of those years because he wasn't around. Still, I want to see him happy. Don't you both want to see him happy?" he asked, looking at them accusingly. "I know this isn't about Sherlock right now, but shouldn't it be at least a little bit about him?"

Molly nodded. "I do want to see him happy and it should be about him."

Mary sat up as well and her eyes fell to Alexis. "He came by yesterday to see the baby." She said as if she were remembering the scene in her head. "And I know it sounds weird but I saw him holding Alexis and there was something on his face, something strange, something I've never seen before."

"Something like what?" John asked.

"I don't know." She answered. "I left the room and while I was gone he went and picked her up out of her play yard and he was holding her when I came back and there was a look in his eye like he was imagining what it would be like to have one of his own."

"It's only natural." Molly said, quietly as her eyes went to the baby as well. "Babies do that to people. It's an instinct."

"It was just weird. I mean, Sherlock thinking about having a baby? I can't imagine him with a pet, rather less a baby." Mary commented.

John went over to the playpen and picked his daughter up. "You know I never exactly pictured myself with a baby either."

Molly scoffed. "Oh, John, I pegged you for a family man the minute I met you. But Sherlock?"

Mary looked at her incredulously. "Are you telling me in all the years you've been in love with him you've never thought about what it would be like to be married with a horde of children running around Baker street?"

Molly looked away, but then she quickly shook her head. "No, I'm done. I understand that you want Sherlock to be happy. But we all know very well that he will never be happy with me. I'm not pretty even or sparkly enough. He is never going to see me as anything but plain, ordinary Molly. I get that now. I need for find someone who appreciates plain, ordinary Molly."

Mary squeezed her shoulder. "You're absolutely right. You need someone who enjoys the same things you do, like doing experiments in the lab, someone who shares your ability to find humor in even the darkest situations, someone who appreciates what you do and how good you are at your job, someone who values your opinions and insights even when they don't want to hear what your saying."

Molly got to her feet. "I know what you're trying to say."

"What?" John asked because apparently he wasn't getting it at all.

"It's Sherlock." Molly said with a sigh. "She's saying all those things about Sherlock."

John was quiet for a moment as if he were tossing the things around in his head. "She's absolutely right, Molly."

"The problem is still the fact that he is never going to see me like that. He is never going to look at me like he looks at her."

"And yet, when he was in trouble, I mean really in trouble, it was you he went to." John countered.

"Because he knew he could trust me, that's the only reason." she argued.

Mary got up as well. "Is it possible that maybe he has feelings for you and he doesn't even know it himself? I know he doesn't really process feelings like normal people do."

John chuckled. "No,usually when he feels something he doesn't understand he just pushes it away and pretends it never happened."

"Okay, this isn't helping." Molly said, walking over and placing a kiss on Alexis' forehead. "I'm going home. I'm sorry to have barged in on your evening like I did and I appreciate the shoulder to cry on, but tomorrow I'm starting over and this time, come hill or high water, I'm going to get over Sherlock Holmes once and for all."

Then she grabbed her purse and left.

John looked at his wife. "How did I not see it before?"

"See what?" she asked though the look on her face said she already knew the answer.

"He may be infatuated with Irene Adler, but he's completely in love with Molly Hooper." John answered.

"I know." Mary smiled smugly.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

Mary came and took the baby from him. "Oh, don't you worry, Luv, I'm already working on it."


	6. Chapter 6

He was standing with his back to the window at Baker street, one hand in the pocket of his black slacks, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. Lit only by a small lamp on the table, half of him was in shadow, the other half bathed in dim, yellow light. She watched in fascination as a plume of smoke drifted in a long trail from his lips before dissipating in the air above his black curls. He wore his purple shirt, her favorite, and a buttoned up vest that matched his slacks.

His expression was dark, serious and weighty. His eyes bore into her like he could see right into her soul. But then the entire scene felt dark and serious and weighty, as if any minute something was going to happen, something big, something important, something game changing.

Molly felt herself trembling under his heavy gaze and she shoved her hands in her pockets to keep him from noticing, though she knew it was an exercise in futility. He was Sherlock. He noticed everything.

Considering it was Sherlock, she wondered if he knew what he was doing to her. Despite being the most perceptive man on the planet, sometimes things like this escaped him. But then, as if he were reading her mind, his eyes narrowed even further and the look he gave her left no doubt that he knew exactly what affect he was having and he was doing it on purpose.

"Sherlock," Her voice was airy and more shaky than her hands when she took a step towards him.

He dropped the cigarette from his hand after taking one long last drag and stamped it out into the carpet beneath his feet. Molly had a brief image of Ms. Hudson making a fuss over the damage. "Molly," he said in answer, his voice strong, low and steady.

They stood there like that a moment longer, simply staring at each other, neither moving, neither speaking, just staring. Then as if he could no longer contain himself, he crossed the room in four giant strides of his long legs and suddenly she was pressed against his chest as his arms came around her and her back hit the wall behind her. The air in her lungs gushed out in a rush but he drank it in before capturing her lips with his.

The first touch of his full, deeply-bowed lips against hers felt like Heaven. He tasted of scotch and the cigarette he'd just put out. She groaned into him as his tongue swept across her lips, begging for entrance into the dark recesses of her mouth and she granted it without hesitation. She breathed in deeply, enveloping herself in the intoxicating scent of him, a scent that was a mixture of smoke, soap, alcohol and something else she couldn't quite describe, something that simply said Sherlock.

He cupped her cheek in his palm as his long fingers tangled in her hair. She couldn't help but do the same, burying her hand in his hair and finding it just as silky and soft as she'd always imagined it would be. Her other hand clutched at his shoulder, holding him as tightly against her as she could, silently begging him not to pull away.

There was apparently no danger of that. His hips had her trapped against the wall. His chest pressed into hers as his tongue continued to plunder her mouth without mercy.

When he finally did manage to drag his lips from hers it was only to move them to the curve of her jaw where he began kissing, sucking and biting his way down to her shoulder.

He gave an impatient groan when he realized her oversized sweater was impeding his progress and she helped him by grabbing it by the hem and hauling it off in one quick motion. He pulled away only long enough to give her enough room. Then he was on her again, pressing into her, nipping at her shoulder, slipping his tongue across her collarbone. Pressing it into the hollow of her throat.

Her name fell from his lips, his voice a deep, low timbre that made things low in her stomach do flip-flops.

Her hands weren't idle. In fact she'd managed to unbutton his vest and most of the buttons of his shirt now. She would have finished the job and rid him of both if it weren't for him dipping his head low and taking one of her nipples into his mouth through the material of her plain, white cotton bra.

Her head fell back immediately and in doing so, struck the wall behind her hard.

He let go of her breast and looked up at her in concern as his hand came up to cradle the back of her head. "Perhaps we should do this some place softer. I would hate to be responsible for you injuring yourself."

And with that, he suddenly had her off her feet, dangling in midair and giving her no other recourse than to wrap her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders. As soon as she did, his hands went to her thighs as he gathered her more firmly before stepping away from the wall.

It was a short trip, not more than a few steps before she was laying in the middle of his couch. He hovered over her for a moment as he removed his shirt completely before joining her. She helped him by pushing the material from his shoulders.

Then his mouth was back at her breast while his hand slide around behind her to remove the latch of her bra. His nimble fingers managed the feat with one hand while his other stayed pressed into the curve of her hip.

Her legs were still wrapped around his hips and for the moment she had no notion of moving them. In fact, she tightened her hold causing him to press his impressive erection against her inner thigh. The moment she felt it everything suddenly felt more real for her, as if until that moment she still wasn't sure he didn't plan on abruptly letting her go and walking away.

He groaned into her ear before latching onto the lobe and dragging his teeth across it causing her to moan out loud.

"Oh God, Sherlock," she gasped as if she were offering up a prayer.

He chuckled against her ear and whispered, "You have no idea what hearing you say my name like that does to me."

She did, in fact, have some idea as he ground his hips against her.

Her hands moved down the plains of his back and around to the closure of his slacks. She popped the button and lowered the zipper hastily. Then she slid her hand under the waistband of his boxers.

That was the moment the alarm went off and in the next instant the very real weight of Toby landed squarely on her chest.

_Great_, she thought grumpily, as she pushed the cat away and blinked the last remains of sleep from her eyes, _the dreams were back. Perfect._

It had been months since she'd had those kind of dreams about him.

So much for her determination from the night before to get over Sherlock Holmes once and for all. Apparently, her subconscious had other ideas.

With a huff, she snatched back the blankets and got up to start her day.

By mid morning she was on her third cup of coffee and she still could not manage to make the images from her dream quit replaying themselves over and over in her mind.

By lunchtime the situation was becoming dire. She was very glad she had the day off and there was no chance of running into him at the morgue. And with Irene Adler hanging about, she was pretty certain he wouldn't be paying her an impromptu visit either. She had the entire day to purge all thoughts of Sherlock from her mind.

She had just plopped down in the corner of the couch with a sandwich in her lap and a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her, determined to spend the day doing absolutely nothing when the knock came to the door.

She thought about ignoring it, but the telly was on and there was no doubt that whoever was on the other side of the door could hear it.

_Damn it!_

She went to the door to find the object of her disdain standing on the other side.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him as she opened the door to allow him entrance. "I would have thought you'd be busy with your lady friend."

"You weren't at work." he answered simply as he took his usual spot on the sofa and snatched up half of her sandwich on his way.

"No, occasionally they let me have a day off." she replied as she took her own spot back and grabbed up what was left of her lunch.

He took a bite and scrunched up his face. "This is vile. Are you sure it wasn't meant for Toby?"

"It's Salami and no, it's perfectly acceptable human food."

He tossed his half eaten half back to the plate with a disgusted expression. "I can't let you eat that rubbish. Get dressed and let's go get something eatable for lunch."

"Why?" she asked, confused. He'd never asked her to lunch before.

"I'm hungry, clearly so are you and I have more questions." he answered.

"More questions about what?"

He waved his hand around wildly. "All of it. This dating business has me completely baffled."

"Why not ask Ms. Adler?" Molly asked with a touch of bite to her voice.

He sighed tiredly and rolled his eyes. "My questions are about Irene Adler."

Molly sat up abruptly. "No." she said simply and took another bite of her sandwich.

"No?" he asked as if he'd never heard the word before.

"That's right. No. I'm not going to lunch with you so we can spend the whole time talking about your new girlfriend. Just no." She refrained adamantly.

He sat up as well and without warning his hand fell to her bare knee. The look on his face was something she'd only seen there once before. It was the night he came to her asking for her help in faking his suicide and she knew she was gone.

Then he cemented the deal with a quiet, "Please, Molly. I don't want to mess this up and I'm afraid I'm going to without your help."

Molly sighed. "I thought she was leaving soon. I'm not sure it would be a good idea for you to actually try this with her leaving."

"She isn't leaving." He answered.

"What?" Molly asked, already feeling the tears stinging her eyes.

"She isn't leaving. Mycroft has gotten her a new identity and since the greatest threat to her safety was Moriarty, she's going to stay in London. At least for the time being."

"Oh, I see." Molly said. "Well then, in that case, let's go to lunch and make sure you don't screw this up."

She managed to make it to her bedroom before the tears began to flow freely.

"She says she wants to try to have a real relationship with me. She's actually staying in London because of me." Sherlock was explaining as he popped a piece of fish into his mouth at the diner just down the street from Molly's flat.

"And that scares you?" Molly asked over her own plate of fish and chips.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he considered his answer. "It worries me."

"Worries you, why?"

"What if this relationship thing turns out to be exactly the distraction I've always thought it would be? What if it turns out I can't stand her? Or she can't put up with me? I think we can both agree that that isn't always the easiest thing to do."

"That's true, but you are getting better. You haven't been rude once all day." Molly replied encouragingly.

He looked at her studiously for a moment. "I really do prefer your hair down. Why do you insist on wearing it up even when you aren't at work?"

Molly laughed. "There he is. I was beginning to worry. I wear my hair however it suits me because it's my hair."

"I'm just saying, if you're only going to wear it up all the time, why not just cut it short." he said. Then he looked at her again judgmentally. "Wait, on second thought, please don't do that. You really don't have the proper face for short hair."

"Wasn't planning on it, but thank you for your opinion. It's noted." She sighed. "I do love spending time with you. Makes me miss my Mum less." she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking, do you realize that we spend an awful lot of time when we're together talking about my appearance. Why is that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I know you're always on the look out for your next suitor. I'm just trying to help."

"I am not always on the look out." she argued.

He simply looked at her like she'd lost her mind and didn't even bother to contradict her.

"Fine, maybe I am. But I don't like being alone. A lot of people don't like being alone."

They fell silent for a time, both just eating and staring off at the park across the street from the diner.

"Is that why you agreed to go out with him?" Sherlock asked finally.

Molly squirmed in her seat. She'd hoped he'd simply forget about her date with his brother. She should have known better. "Maybe." she shrugged. "He seemed nice and Toby liked him."

Sherlock laughed out loud. "Do you judge all your date on whether your cat likes them?"

Molly laughed with him. "Toby is a great judge of character."

"Well that's a relief because you are obviously a horrible one."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you seem to like me just fine. That alone says there is something wrong with you."

They both laughed at that.

"I think this thing with Irene is going to be good for you." Molly said once the humor died away.

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do. I don't think anyone should be alone all the time."

Sherlock gave her a rare genuine smile. "I'm not alone all the time. I have John and Mary and Alexis and Ms. Hudson. Most importantly, I have you."

Molly felt her cheeks warm at the sincerity in his voice.

Sherlock popped his last chip into his mouth before slamming both his hands down on the table dramatically. "I have a bag of fingers in my fridge at the flat. Care to help me see if we can get a print off of one after it's been freeze dried?"

Molly downed the last of her lunch gleefully before springing to her feet. "Maybe we can see how many ways we can mutilate them and still get a viable print?"

"That's my girl!" he exclaimed as he dropped some bills on the table for their lunch and ran outside to hail a taxi.


	7. Chapter 7

"A man is killed inside a room where all the windows and doors are locked from the inside. There is no evidence of anyone else being present at all. The only thing found was a single screw in the middle of the room and of course a dead man sitting at his desk apparently shopping for lady's lingerie online at the time of his death." Sherlock said over his cup of steaming coffee as he looked across the table at Molly and John who were joining Sherlock and Irene, or Madeline, as her new identity called her, for breakfast.

"Any viable suspects?" John asked. "Neighbors see anything?"

"No one saw or heard a thing," Sherlock shook his head.

"What was the cause of death?" Molly asked as it was her area of expertize.

"Ligatures around the neck say something thin."

"He was strangled?" Madeline interjected. "There goes my theory. I thought perhaps it was a suicide."

"Something thin? Like a Garrote?" Molly continued on, ignoring Madeline. Really, if it were a suicide it would have hardly been worth Sherlock's time.

"Precisely like a garrote!" He exclaimed joyfully. He loved the ones with odd weapons or causes of death. It was like a present for him.

"An assassination then?" she offered.

Sherlock nodded. "Certainly looked like one but I can't for the life of me figure out why anyone would want to assassinate the man. He was rather boring. University professor of history, not married, no friends to speak of. Apparently all he did was work and come home to his computer. He logged an awful lot of internet hours."

Molly paused, something he'd said early struck a note as odd. She had just opened her mouth to say it when John pipped in. "If he wasn't married then who was the lingerie for?"

"A girlfriend?" Madeline asked, trying to be helpful again.

"No signs of any women at his flat. Nothing in the bathroom or bedroom indicating a female presence, nor in the living or kitchen."

"What kind of signs would there be in the living room or kitchen indicating a woman lived there?" She wanted to know.

"You know, kick-knacks and what-nots. Throw pillows and smelly cheeses." He explained a touch impatiently. "All the things you women insist on putting around by way of laying your claim to a place."

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed. "That's the most sexist thing I've ever heard."

"But he's right," Molly interjected. "Women are more sentimental, so it's more likely for a woman to have personal things around like pictures and souvenirs from travels and we like to make things pretty so we go for throw pillows and kick-knacks more than men."

Madeline tossed her a look from across the table that could be called withering. Molly almost slumped down in her chair but Sherlock's nod of agreement steeled her and she simply sat up straighter and smiled.

"It was a bachelor's pad. There is no doubt in my mind. Which does bring up the question. Who was he buying lingerie for? And why haven't we heard anything about her? There was no woman's presence on his computer, none in his office, or in his phone. Where is she?"

Madeline attempted to be helpful again. "Maybe it was for him?"

"No, no, gay men fall under the same guidelines as women." Sherlock corrected her.

"Doesn't have to be gay to be a cross dresser," Madeline mumbled grumpily.

"What about this screw? Where did you find it?" John asked, trying to avoid an all out argument. Being a married man he could see the signs of one brewing.

"Middle of the floor, nothing around, near or over it."

"You're sure it's evidence. Maybe it just fell out of something."

"Like what?"he asked in response. "Screws rarely just randomly fall out of things and end up in the middle of the room. It would far more likely that it would have been kicked somewhere had it simply fallen out of something."

"Hardwood or carpet?" Molly asked.

"Hardwood." Sherlock answered.

"Then you're right. Most likely it would have been kicked around. It wouldn't have been in the middle of the floor." She sighed and sat back with her cup of coffee. "Okay first things first. How did the killer get it? If it wasn't by the door or the window, it had to be through a vent perhaps? That would also explain the screw."

"A vent!" Sherlock shouted triumphantly. Obviously he already knew the answers to this one and he was simply using it to test his collegues and friends. He did that sometimes particularly at mealtimes when they got together. It was his way of keeping them sharp, Molly guessed.

"So it was an air vent, in the ceiling?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"Was the screw under the vent?" John asked.

"No that would have been too obvious even for Scotland Yard to figure out."

"Were there any tread marks on the floor, like from a boot?" Molly offered.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, none that showed up."

"So the killer must have been careful. I'm assuming the screw got where it was by getting lodged in the treads of a boot for a time."

"Exactly. As the killer moved towards the victim the screw came loose from the tread and ended up in the middle of the room. You really are quite good at this, Molly." Sherlock complimented her sincerely.

"How was it the killer was able to get into the room from a vent without the victim noticing?" Madeline inquired. "Wouldn't he have heard someone dropping down from an air vent when they hit the floor?"

"The killer came in from a different room. I'm betting there was an air vent in the bedroom right over the bed or perhaps in the kitchen over a counter, maybe even in the bathroom over the sink." John answered before Sherlock had a chance.

"Isn't an air vent rather small for someone to be climbing through though? They'd have to be no bigger than a child to fit through." Madeline asked, once again trying to join the conversation.

"The air intact for this particular flat was in the ceiling above the vanity in the bathroom over the vanity. And you're right, the killer would have to be someone quite small." Sherlock answered.

"A woman?" Molly asked, "Maybe a petite woman?"

"Or a midget?" Madeline suggested.

Sherlock looked at her with raised eyebrows for a moment before turning to Molly with a smile. "A petite woman indeed."

Madeline put her napkin in the middle of her empty plate that had once held a muffin. "Alright already just tell us, I have things I need to do today. Like find you the perfect present."

"But they were so close," Sherlock whined. "At least let them have a guess before I spoil it."

"Alright, John?" Madeline said, prompting John for his guess.

"The woman climbs in from the air vent and strangles the man because she was one of his students and he was failing her in class?" John ventured.

Sherlock made an obnoxious buzzing sound. "Nope! Although she was a student of his."

"The woman climbed in through the air vent and strangled him because she found out she wasn't the only student he was sleeping with and the lingerie he was buying online was for the other girl."

"Ding! Ding! Molly wins this round!" Sherlock exclaimed. "It was really rather elementary though. I'll try to think of something much better for dinner tomorrow night. You are all still coming by, right?"

Molly nodded. "I plan to stop before heading off to my Mum's."

"Mary and I will be there. We are staying here in town for the Holiday. Don't really feel like dealing with my sister and her drama this year."

"Good, good. Mrs. Hudson will be delighted to have you all." Madeline smiled though it looked fake and plastic.

"Actually, I'll be coming by this afternoon. Mrs. Hudson asked me to come by to help with some of the deserts she plans on making. You know how she is about Christmas. There is always so much to do." Molly explained. "And I somehow managed to get a three day holiday this year, though I have no idea how I managed it."

Sherlock, grabbed his scarf and wrapped it around his neck. "That is a bit of luck, isn't it?"

The tone in his voice was smug and satisfied and Molly wondered for a moment if he might have had something to do with it.

"Well, if you're heading to Baker street, I'd be happy to share a taxi with you, Molly." Sherlock offered.

Madeline gave him a glance but Molly couldn't see what was on her face. Sherlock ignored the look whatever it was. "I have some last minute shopping to finish up, but I'll be around in a few hours."

"Well, I look forward to see you then." Sherlock smiled.

Madeline reached out and snatched his hand in hers and began to drag him away from the table. "How about you share a taxi with me instead?" She was saying as they moved away.

"Well," John said with a sigh as he sat back and watched the pair walk away. "How do you think that's going?"

Molly shrugged as she finished off her coffee and sat the cup aside. "He says it's fine. But then he said it that way he says something is 'fine' even when it really isn't. Or maybe that's just a bit of wishful thinking on my part."

"I really just wish I could tell him how much I don't like her," John said.

"You don't?"

"No, I don't. Never have."

Molly wanted to agree with John but she was trying very hard to be supportive of this new relationship so she kept quiet. "What are you getting Mary for Christmas?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, you know, something, sparkly and shiny like a good husband. It's a sapphire bracelet. That's her birthstone and she says its her favorite."

"It sounds lovely."

"What about you? What did you get Sherlock? And don't tell me nothing because I know you better than that."

Molly gave him a coy smile. "Alright. I got him a pipe. He's having an awful time lately with the smoking. I thought maybe if he at least switched to a pipe it would be a little better anyway."

"I'm sure he'll love it."

"It's actually an antique. Belonged to my father, and my grandfather before that. So I really do hope he likes it. One of my favorite memories of my father is the way he always smelled like pipe tobacco. I love that smell."

"Oh, Molly, are you sure that's a good idea. I mean, giving him an heirloom like that."

"Yes, it know it is. He'll take care of it. I'm sure of it. He says he doesn't hold much for sentiment, but I know it's not true. He'll appreciate where it came from and love it even more because of it."

"You are such a romantic. I really wish you could find someone just as hopeless as you are."

Molly sighed again. "So do I."

John put his hand over hers where it rested on the table and gave it a squeeze. "He'll show up one of these days. I'm sure of that."

"I hope you're right. I'm getting rather tired of waiting for him."

Molly spent the next few hours finishing up her shopping. She got a new tea kettle for her Mum, who was a collector, a briefcase for her brother, who was a lawyer, and a collar and leash for John, who wasn't aware of it yet, but he was going to need it on Christmas morning. In fact the animal in question was currently residing at her flat, a fact Toby was not too happy with. Mary was supposed to pick the dog up in the morning.

Molly was already in love with the floppy ear thing. She knew John would be head over heels at first site.

It was just after lunch when she arrived at Baker street and Mrs. Hudson ushered her inside and in front of a fire immediately. It had started to snow an hour earlier and Molly's gloves and wool hat were damp from it. That along with a numb nose and feet said winter had indeed arrived with a vengeance. She hoped the weather wouldn't get so bad that it would disrupt her plans. She was actually looking forward to seeing her family this year. It had been a while since she'd been home for a holiday. She'd stop going regularly when her father died. But then she and her father had always been close while her brother Jay and her Mum were like peas in a pod.

"Looks like we'll have a white one this year." Mrs. Hudson said as she put on a pot of tea.

"Looks like. It's really starting to come down out there. I hope it doesn't get too bad though."

"Big plans for the holiday, have you?" the older woman asked.

She was just about to say yes when a knock at the door interrupted her. Mrs. Hudson moved to answer it and came back into her kitchen while shaking her head.

"That one is such an odd duck," she was muttering under her breath.

"Which one is an odd duck?" Molly asked, curious about the visitor.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sherlock's brother."

"Mycroft is here?"

She nodded. "Just went up to see him."

"Must be delivering his Christmas gift," Molly muttered.

Mrs. Hudson laughed out loud. "I doubt they do that sort of thing. Can you just imagine Mycroft and Sherlock sitting around a tree opening present of socks and such?"

Molly couldn't help but join her laughter. It did present a rather amusing image.


End file.
